


Mutually Beneficial

by experimentalwritings



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Ass Play, Choking, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Face-Fucking, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot/Plotless, Object Insertion, Sex Work, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/experimentalwritings/pseuds/experimentalwritings
Summary: Betty gets into Yale. Paying for it turns out to be a struggle.Enter Hiram Lodge.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Hiram Lodge
Comments: 3
Kudos: 244





	1. Bet You’re Wondering How I Wound Up Here

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I don’t know where this came from. I had several ideas floating around for kink and I kind of like the idea of just being able to cram them into a loose narrative. I’ll post the actual sex later today but there may be more at some point? Feel free to offer suggestions.

At 1:35 PM, on the first Friday of every month, Betty Cooper walks into a coffee shop.

She only visits this particular establishment on these Fridays, even though it’s three blocks from her apartment in New Haven. She carries no purse but there’s exact change in her pocket. She buys a bottle of water, leaves two dollar bills in the tip jar.

She exits and finds a spot on one of the benches outside, rain or shine. She drinks the water slowly, avoids eye contact with any passerby.

A sleek black town car arrives precisely at 2:00 PM. 

A uniformed man gets out, opens the back door. Betty slides into the backseat. They never speak.

Her strict routine ends the moment the car glides to a stop. 

Betty never knows how the next 48 hours are going to play out. She brings no clothes or toiletries - they’re provided. Her phone stays behind as she won’t be needing it.

That’s the agreement Betty’s made with Hiram Lodge. She’s generously compensated for her time. 

On paper, it’s a simple transaction. In practice, their arrangement is far more complicated than she’d anticipated. 

Does she like the weekends she spends at Hiram’s beck and call? If asked, Betty would spit a vehement denial. Hiram is an awful man, controlling and demanding and far too used to getting his way. Betty hates the things he has done to her family and friends, the havoc he’s wreaked on her town. If they met in public in the streets of Riverdale she’d struggle to be polite.

Removed from all of that, by time and distance, when it’s just the two of them, it’s a little more complicated.

Privately, she’ll admit (if only to herself) that she gets something out of the arrangement, beyond the financial security (and bonus trinkets) it provides.

She thinks too much, pushes herself too hard. Worries, over things big and small, both within her control and beyond it. She’s hardwired to want to show the world perfection, to seem shiny and happy and in control.

Betty’s always had darker urges. Curiosities. Plus occasional issues with impulse control.

Somehow, Hiram Lodge had guessed.

The first weekend of every month has become an escape, one Betty’s come to crave.


	2. A Girl’s Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Betty goes to New York.

**The First Month**

Betty’s a mess of nerves. 

She’d almost backed out dozens of times. Has typed up very prim emails, has dialed Mr. Lodge’s number only to chicken out at the last second.

She’d signed the contract. Mr. Lodge is a businessman. His business’ legality may be dubious but she’s certain he wouldn’t take her breaking her word lightly.

This morning she’d woken up to an alert from her bank, a text bubble letting Betty know she’s got an extra five grand in her account. 

Mr. Lodge fulfilling his end of the bargain.

Yale’s insanely expensive, and demanding. She’s still camming but her views (and thus her income) have been falling. She knows she could bring them back up - maybe with some extra shows, maybe trying some new things - but she just hasn’t had the time.

Mr. Lodge (she’s supposed to call him Hiram, unless he’s set another title for a weekend), had approached Betty over the holidays in Riverdale. He’d asked about school, feigned concern. He’d managed to coax her into spilling all of her stress over her classes and her finances and her future.

The next day he’d made her an offer. One that had been too tempting to turn down. 

Now that the money’s in the bank, that she’s made the trek to New York City, it’s too late to change her mind.

She’s escorted into a suite by a bellhop who’s too well trained to make her feel judged. Betty feels beyond underdressed in her jeans and pink sweater, particularly once she takes in the views the room offers. One whole wall is windows, and they’re far above the city, it seems endless stretching out below. There’s a table in front of it, the dark wood polished to a high shine. It could easily seat twenty people but, oddly, there’s only one chair.

She fidgets nervously, jumps when the bellhop clears his throat. His expression is smooth but his hand is extended, holding a small black box that’s clearly meant for her. “Oh!” Betty exclaims, and it echoes off the high ceilings. She smiles weakly, softens her volume. “Sorry. I... thank you.”

The bellhop nods, “Please call the front desk should you require assistance.” 

Once she’s grasped the box, he turns away. Betty clenches her teeth against the urge to call him back, to ask questions. He manages to move without a sound until the door shuts behind him with a soft click. Betty exhales shakily, does a slow spin. There’s a chandelier overhead, heavy with crystals. The furniture is black leather and expensive looking.

Everything is expensive looking.

Betty fumbles with the silky white ribbon on the box, walking closer to the table.   
  
When she opens the gift she sees a small envelope, nestled atop what looks to be a pile of pearls. She begins to pull them out carefully, notes the weight and the iridescent shimmer. She’s puzzled by the length of the strand - it appears far longer than any necklace she’d ever seen.

She grabs the envelope before her curiosity can get the best of her - it’s only good manners to open the card first.

Still, her eyes stay on the pearls. She knows a little bit about them as jewelry (courtesy of Veronica and the frequent gifts from her daddy - Betty refuses to think to hard about _that_ ) and these certainly look real.

She withdraws the note carefully, recognizing that it’s silly to be so apprehensive about a little piece of paper. It’s handwritten, the cursive hurried and slanted. The instructions are simple and Betty flushes hot as she reads them.

_Take off all of your clothes. Kneel on the table, facing the window. I’ll help you with pearls on when I arrive._

_\- Hiram_

Betty exhales, sets the box aside. She shakes out her hands, rolls her shoulders, tries to work out her jitters. She really hopes that there are no cameras catching her act like an absolute fool. “Okay. You can do this. Think about the textbooks you still have to buy. And the groceries. Won’t it be nice to buy chocolate again?”

She’d scraped and managed to purchase all of the required texts for her courses. But she really wants the supplemental ones too. 

Betty strips slowly, folds everything neatly and sets the pile out of the way. She rests a knee on the table, is relieved it doesn’t wobble in the slightest. She crawls until she’d fully on, then gets into the position Mr. Lodge had decreed. The wood beneath her has been warmed by the sun but goosebumps crawl across her skin from the chill in the air. 

She squints out the window to distract herself, tries to see if she can spot any people who might be looking in her direction. She’s fairly certain no one’s close enough to recognize her (not that she knows very many people who’d be hanging out in such swanky buildings). She finds herself wondering what someone might think if they did see her.

Would they turn away in disgust? Would they stop to look? Would they hang around to see what’s going to happen next?

Her nipples tighten and her breathe hitches as a trickle of heat slips down her spine.

Part of the reason her cam shows have been so successful is because she enjoys performing. Betty gets off on being watched, gets wetter and wetter with every electronic ding that signals another person entering the chat. She likes fulfilling requests, having someone else tell her how to touch herself, what toy to use, how fast and hard to go.

She should probably feel shame, being displayed like this. She doesn’t. 

Betty presses her thighs together, sits back in her heels. She considers shifting position - it’s been years since she’s done this but fumbling experiments on her bed had taught her that she can make herself come if she angles her legs just right and rocks hard.

Her breasts would bounce, her skin would turn pink and grow damp. Would that catch the attention of the people behind all those windows? 

Her musings are cut off when she hears the door to the suite open, and she remembers that she’s waiting for someone.

The butterflies in her stomach start up again with a vengeance. 

Betty sits taller, her back going stiff and straight. Her arms jerk but she fights the urge to cover herself. She’s about to turn to greet Mr. Lodge but a sharp, “No,” has her freezing. His next command is softer but he expects to be obeyed, “Eyes on the window, Miss Cooper.”

She does as he’s instructed - just as she’d agreed to when she’d signed the thick stack of papers that outlined the terms they’d haggled over.

She has a safe word, a list of hard limits. Beyond that, Mr. Lodge - _Hiram_ \- requires that she obey him.

Betty strains to listen, trying to pick up any clues as to what he might be planning. Fabric rustles and she wonders if he’s undressing. She finds she wouldn’t mind - he might be far older but he’s obviously kept himself in shape, probably pays handsomely for a trainer and a fancy gym. His suits are always perfectly tailored to show off his broad shoulders and chiseled torso.

She hears shoes scrape against marble, finds she’s disappointed. He must not have removed very much.

It’s too light outside for her to catch much of a reflection in the windows and Betty bites back a yelp when fingertips brush against the curve of her lower back.

Hiram makes a soft sound of amusement and his touch firms. His palms span her hips, thumbs pressing circles against her spine. “So tense. Not that I’m surprised.” She sways slightly as he continues the massage, her posture loosens even as her brows furrow in confusion.

This isn’t what she’d expected.

“You have a lovely body, Betty.”

“Thank you,” she manages, wary.

His palms glide up her sides. He presses against his chest against her back as he fills his hands with her breasts. “Apprehensive, are you? I understand. I’ll admit, I was a bit surprised when I got the text that you were safely tucked in the back of the car I sent. I’d expected more resistance.” 

Her nipples are tight points and he pinches them, tugging away from her body. Betty arches into the lick of pain, resting her weight against him and holding in a moan. He soothes the sting with his thumbs, featherlight circles that make her more sensitive. “Tell me, did you think about reneging?” 

“I signed a contract, I wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t intended to follow through.” She’s proud of how steady her voice is.

She’s not about to admit that she’d considered backing out. She can’t have him thinking he knows her.

“Such a good girl,” he rumbles, a hint of mockery in his tone. 

Betty bristles, clenches her teeth together to keep in a snippy comeback. Hiram had outlined his preferred punishments extensively. She won’t give him the satisfaction of earning one so early.

Especially since she’s a little afraid she might like some of them. 

She wobbles when he pulls away, spreads her knees slightly to gain her balance. With her peripheral vision, she sees him pick up the box that contains the pearls. “My first gift to you,” he says, tipping it over. The pearls clatter out, drawing Betty’s attention even as he continues to speak, low and melodic. “You’ll find I can be generous, should I be pleased.”

She has some less than charitable thoughts on his so-called generosity but she keeps them to herself. 

“It would please me to see you wear these.”

Hiram’s hands run over her thighs, squeezing the muscles possessively, urging them wider. Betty has to lean forward, catches her balance with her hands. When she makes to straighten, a heavy hand on her back stops her. Presses her forward, until her cheek rests against the table. “Perfect,” he croons, petting down her back. He squeezes her ass, his fingers flitting between her parted thighs. She shivers and he hums in encouragement. “And so responsive. Tell me Betty, how often do you play with yourself?” 

She hears a chair scrape and holds her breath, fights not to squirm as mortification floods her. She burns with it as Hiram’s hands grip her ass, spreading her cheeks wide and forcing her to tilt her hips back. There’s no way he can’t see _everything_. “I watch your shows, you know. Do you only masturbate for an audience? Or do you need it more often?” He spreads her folds, slicks his fingers in her arousal. “Look at you, dripping all over my hand and I’ve barely touched you.” 

Betty’s eyes widen at the revelation even as Hiram’s words make her burn hotter. She’s immediately distracted from her confusing emotions by Hiram’s tongue. He licks her roughly, just missing her clit and ending with a teasing little swirl against ass. “Sweet,” he rasps. He does it a second time, then his lips wrap around her clit, sucking harshly. Betty’s nails dig into the table and she moans, back arching at an uncomfortable angle as she can’t resist rocking against Hiram’s face.

Betty hadn’t counted on Hiram being skilled. A stupid miscalculation on her part.

He eats her out like he enjoys it and Betty has to press her lips together to keep from crying out his name. 

His hand joins his mouth, his fingers toying with his clit as he presses his tongue inside of her. His face is stubbled and scrapes against her delicate skin, adding to the sensations as he licks and sucks, building her pleasure until Betty’s shaking and on edge.

Hiram pulls back before she can come and, when she realizes he’s stopped, the sound she lets out is pained and whiny. She can’t see him, bent over as she is and she squeezes her eyes shut and wills her body to let her control it again.

Hiram doesn’t seem willing to give her a reprieve. Just as she’s managed a hint of calm he strokes her clit, she thinks he’s using his thumbs, strumming alternately. The pressure is maddening - enough to remind her of how close she’d been, not enough to get her there again. 

“Despite the poor production values your little shows are thoroughly enjoyable.” 

Betty’s panting, dazed, can’t muster up an indignation about the dig he’d worked in. How can he sound so unruffled when he’d just been fucking her with his tongue?

“But, as with all great artists, you’re far better live.”

Had that been... a genuine compliment? Betty’s not sure anymore.

She turns her head when she hears a series of clicks, watches Hiram’s hand, slick now, pick up the pearls. 

Two of his fingers drive deep inside of her shoving Betty across the table an inch or two. She’s wet enough that it doesn’t hurt and her body clamps down eagerly, welcoming the stretch. He adds another finger, fucking her lazily. When he withdraws, she whimpers in complaint. 

Hiram’s chuckle is positively delighted. “So needy,” he murmurs. “You’re going to have to use your words.”

Betty feels a weight land on her back, followed by a ticklish feeling around her sides. It takes her a moment to understand what’s happening, that Hiram’s draping pearls around her hips. A single strand, from the feel of it. 

Hiram tugs on Betty’s hair until she’d sitting up again. He toys with the pearls, arranging them. He connects a second strand to the loop around her waist, adjusts until it spills onto the table between her thighs. Betty looks more closely at her _gift_ , notes that the new strand of pearls isn’t so uniform. They start small, the few that rest under her navel no bigger than her pinkie nail. 

They get progressively larger.

Hiram circles the table, drawing Betty’s attention. When he’s in front of her, he plants his hands and leans forward. He’s quiet for a long moment as his eyes drag over her, Betty glances down, trying to understand what he sees, she knows her face must be flushed and sweaty, can see the jut of her stiff nipples. Hiram’s gaze drags hotly down the quivering muscles of her stomach then lower. He lingers over the obscene spread of her thighs, her cunt pink and wet and draped in pearls.

“Hold still,” he murmurs. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, snaps a picture. 

Betty takes the opportunity to study him. Notes his rolled up sleeves and the bulge that tents the front of his charcoal grey trousers. He rubs himself absently and she feels an answering twinge of need inside, her body clamping down around nothing, an ache building.

She’s shocked by how badly she wants him to fuck her.

“Put them inside you,” he says softly. 

Betty jolts, her mouth falling open. “I... what?”

“The pearls. One by one, I want you to stuff that entire strand up your hot little cunt. You feel so empty, don’t you? I think they’ll fill you up nicely.”

Betty’s thought about what Hiram would ask of her extensively. Has thought of little else over the last few weeks. Nothing like this had crossed her mind. “I don’t think I can...”

“I can put them in your ass, if you prefer.” He says it absently, but his eyes have narrowed. He’s losing patience. 

Betty swallows, has no trouble parsing his meaning. He’ll ensure option two will be less pleasant. 

She reaches down, gropes for the end of the strand. Rolls it between her fingers, testing the size. She trembles slightly as she presses the pearl to her opening, it pops inside her with little resistance. She squirms a little, testing the unfamiliar feeling. It’s like nothing she’s ever had inside her before - smooth and round and unyielding to her clenching down. 

She can’t decide if it’s good or bad.

Hiram’s watching her expectantly. Betty pushes the second pearl in. Then the third. 

It starts to feel _really_ good.

The pearls shift each time a new one is added, pressing against her walls. The stretch is delicious and her cunt pulses rhythmically around each new intrusion - needy, just like Hiram had said. He admonishes her when she starts to go too fast and his watchful eyes hold a warning that keeps her from even attempting to play with her clit.

She’s panting by the time she’s finished, her head tipped back and her eyes unfocused. Her hips move and she doesn’t even care how she must look, humping nothing because she’s so desperate to come. Betty cups her breast, plucks at her nipple, her free hand grips her thigh tight enough to bruise. 

“There, was that so hard?” Hiram asks. He rounds the table again, coming up behind her.

She’s lost the urge to needle him, shakes her head.

He slips his hand between her thighs and Betty moans. The pressure moves the pearls inside of her and she fights the urge to sob so when it’s removed.

“On your back. Open your mouth.”

She’s scrambling to obey the command before it’s even complete. She lays back, letting her head tip over the edge. Hiram gropes her breasts, squeezes her nipples between his fingers. She rubs her thighs together helplessly, moaning.

“Stop.”

Betty stills immediately.

His hand comes to rest on her throat. He squeezes and Betty gets hotter, her heartbeat hammering and her clit beginning to throb when she can’t take a breath.

“Spread your legs,” Hiram demands, relaxing his grip. “Someone could be watching, you know. What a sight you are, all stuffed and dripping.”

Betty lets her legs fall open, drawing her knees up so she’s fully on display. Hiram reaches down, rubs his hand over her slit, and she grinds against his palm. She’s about to beg him to rub her clit - she’s so close to coming again - when the tip of his cock brushes her mouth. Precum smears across her lips and Betty licks over the head eagerly.

“Remember, I’m generous if pleased.”

She closes her lips around him, sucking what she can. Hiram’s not one to be teased and he taps at her clit. Betty’s mouth falls open on a moan and his hips surge forward. The thick length of him glides across her tongue, stretching her mouth open. She focuses on breathing through her nose, relaxing her throat.

“I knew you’d be good a this,” he hisses. “All that practicing you did for your audience, sucking those dildos while you rode your fingers.” He slides deeper into her throat and Betty swallows, he lets out a harsh grunt of pleasure. His fingers press inside of her, toying with the pearls.

It’s so much sensation and Hiram keeps talking. Betty’s mind blanks, her body beginning to tense. “I thought you might just be playing the perfect little slut for your audience, maximizing the views. But you weren’t were you, Miss Cooper?”

She grips the edge of the table and lets him fuck her mouth. Saliva and Hiram’s cum drip from her lips, slipping down her cheeks and chin. She’s too full and her legs are shaking. Betty moans every time Hiram brushes her clit and the motions of his hips grow harsh, stuttering. “I knew you’d be worth every penny,” he gasps, just before he pulls out. 

He comes in spurts across her face, just as he yanks the pearls from her cunt. They scrape her walls, against her fluttering entrance, burn as the bump against her clit. It’s pain and pleasure and Betty cries out as she comes, the rush the most intense thing she’s ever felt. 

She’s not sure how long she writhes on the table for, feels wrung out and exhausted once she’s done.

The sky has darkened and the only sound is harsh breaths. Hers and Hiram’s.

Betty can see he’s collapsed in the chair, loose limbed, with a fine sheen of sweat on her face. A tinge of pride enters her haze.

He collects himself first, rises to his feet. Takes another picture. 

“There’s a dress for you in the bedroom. You have forty-five minutes before we leave for dinner.”

It’s both a dismissal and an order. Betty assumes anywhere they go will be upscale, silently curses the short time frame. She rolls herself up into a sitting position.

There’s a drink cart near the head of the table, Hiram’s wandered over and poured himself a drink. He’s tucked himself back into his pants. Appears admirably collected which is annoying. 

She winces when she climbs off the table, tender between her legs. The pearls dangle and she wishes she had something to cover herself with. “The room on the left,” Hiram prompts.

She mutters a thank you.

“And Betty?” She glances at him, his lips curl into a smirk that’s just a touch cruel. “Wear the pearls.”


End file.
